Heathcliff stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole face.
'Will you have some breakfast ?' I said.

'You must be hungry, rambling about all night!' I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly.
'No, I'm not hungry,' he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.
I felt perplexed: I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.
'I don't think it right to wander out of doors,' I observed, 'instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate this moist season.

I daresay you'll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!' 'Nothing but what I can bear,' he replied; 'and with the greatest pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone: get in, and don't annoy me.' I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.
'Yes!' I reflected to myself, 'we shall have a fit of illness.

I cannot conceive what he has been doing.' That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting.
'I've neither cold nor fever, Nelly,' he remarked, in allusion to my morning's speech; 'and I'm ready to do justice to the food you give me.' He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct.

He laid them on the table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out.